A Niche Market
by Saengak
Summary: Missing-nin hitai-ate slashes are frustratingly difficult to carve properly. Itachi makes a profit.


"DAMMIT!" Kisame roared as the tip of his kunai went haywire again and skidded off the polished metal of the hitai-ate.

Itachi looked up from his book, his face impassive except for the muscle twitching faintly beneath his eye. That expression on any other person would have been a teeth-gritting snarl. "What is it, Kisame."

The blue-skinned man threw his kunai against the door of their motel room, not even bothering to aim properly, and turned to his jinchuuriki-hunting partner with a crazed look in his silver eyes. Itachi immediately readied his chakra, feeling his sight sharpen as his Sharingan reached the cusp of activation. Perhaps the ex-Mist-nin had finally lost it.

"How do you do this!?" Kisame bit out, his gills flaring in frustration.

The novel in Itachi's hand closed slowly. "Do what?"

Shark-teeth bared, Kisame made an agitated gesture towards the hitai-ate sitting innocuously on the floor. Beside it, there was a veritable pile of ruined headbands, their metal plates all defaced with wonky lines. "Carve out the slash for missing-nins!" he exclaimed.

Itachi shot Kisame a _look_.

'Are you an idiot?' it said.

A warning growl rumbled through Kisame's broad chest and Samehada whimpered in the corner like an overgrown puppy. With five rows of sharpened teeth.

"Come on, do me a favour," Kisame demanded as he approached Itachi with an unmutilated Mist hitai-ate. The grin that accompanied the demand was the closest that Kisame got to being nice and Itachi sighed.

He reached out for the scrap of cloth but froze midway.

There was a stain. A nasty stain that looked like brains.

"It's dirty," Itachi said, eyeing the brain stain with disgust. He tucked his hand back into the wide sleeve of his Akatsuki cloak. "I refuse to touch it."

"You prissy little–"

Itachi shot Kisame another _look_.

'Take it or leave it,' it said.

Muttering under his breath all the way, Kisame sorted through his scant remaining supply of hitai-ate until he withdrew one that looked half-way decent – it merely had an odd cheese-like smell. Itachi accepted it from Kisame with a suppressed shudder, pinching the wrinkled thing gingerly between two fingers as he stood to lay it out on the rickety desk.

Drawing out one of his kunai, he laid it precisely against the scratched metal surface and stabilised the edge of the plate with his other hand. Towering behind Itachi, the other Akatsuki member wasn't breathing as he glared at the glinting object in anticipation.

"Mangekyou Sharingan!"

"What the—!"

Ignoring the defensive stance Kisame leapt into, Itachi re-sheathed his kunai with a flourish and ambled back to his chair, sinking back into the soft cushions with a sigh. The corner of his lip tilted _just so_ in smugness. As his eyes faded back to black, Kisame approached the table to stand slack-jawed at the perfectly carved line slashing across the hitai-ate.

It was the perfect length. The perfect depth. Both ends tapered off perfectly. The four Mist squiggles were bisected with perfect symmetry. The way the line followed the curve of the metal plate was faintly artistic.

The shark man was almost afraid to breathe too loudly. So this was the ultimate power of the Sharingan.

It was beautiful.

It was humiliating.

Kisame glanced back at the small pile of ruined hitai-ates and made up his mind.

"Itachi, another!"

The Uchiha's eyes narrowed dangerously. "No _._ "

"I'll buy you a new cloak from Pain!"

" _No._ "

"Shit, those cloaks are expensive, Itachi!"

"It was your fault my last one got ruined."

"I'll… I'll… pay you a thousand ryo for every hita-ate," Kisame bartered desperately. "Look. Cold, hard cash."

"…"

* * *

Itachi snapped his book shut.

Deidara quailed and tried to pass it off as a muscle twitch, breaking out into nervous, unconvincing throat-clearing. Glaring at the extended hand, Itachi eyed the hitai-ate dangling across Deidara's palm.

"Kisame said—"

"I bet I know what Kisame said," Itachi muttered darkly. Still, he snatched the hitai-ate up and drew his kunai. At least Deidara had the courtesy to launder the headband properly before bringing it to him.

"That'll be a thousand-one-hundred ryo," Itachi declared as he handed it back to Deidara.

From the awed, dazed expression on the blonde's face, he probably hadn't even realised that Itachi had upped the price.

* * *

"Jashin-sama bless you!" Hidan squealed as he accepted his newly scratched hitai-ate with reverent hands. "May you have many blood-soaked kills!"

Kakuzu accepted his with an appreciative grunt but sighed as he parted with the money.

Pocketing the wad in silence, Itachi sent them off with an aristocratic nod, not bothering to see them to the door. Behind him, Kisame sniggered and their latest captive jinchuuriki watched in incredulity.

Despite it being a rather niche market, word was spreading and business was good.

* * *

"A moment please, Uchiha-san," Konan murmured as the Akatsuki parted ways beneath the Gedou Mazou.

'Cold, hard cash,' rang memory-Kisame's voice in Itachi's ears as he accepted a paper bag full of Ame hitai-ate. Her usually impassive doll-like face creased in a small smile as she discretely handed him several thick stacks of ryo bills, which Itachi tucked into his pockets with a nod.

It was becoming a bit of a hassle to carry all that money on his person, though.

Perhaps he should start a trust fund for Sasuke.


End file.
